


luft HORiZON

by ochiai (gamblers)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Break Up, Chess Metaphors, Gen, Getting Together, M/M, Oikawa ex machina, Stock Market Metaphors, We don't need things like metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29146527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gamblers/pseuds/ochiai
Summary: 8 months chronicling our attempts to avoid a back-rank checkmate.
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Kindaichi Yuutarou, Kunimi Akira/Matsukawa Issei
Comments: 10
Kudos: 23





	luft HORiZON

**Author's Note:**

> the mentioned past-iwaoi dynamic was played out in “[endgame unlikely](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27628822)”. you don’t have to read that story to understand the contents of this one. i hope you enjoy this fic & thank you for reading!
> 
> **minor content warning** : brief reference to the death of a family relative in this fic.

It’s not like his correlations are particularly pathetic, by any stretch. By any stretch would’ve had Kindaichi succumbing to the secret in his nasal cavity, leaving him retracting his toes in the morning to open-wounded thoughts. And to rewind it back would be irresponsible to science. Kunimi doesn’t want that kind of blood on his hands.

So he puts the onus back on Kindaichi. Next to despondence, guilt is a color that Kindaichi wears incredibly well. “So let’s say hypothetically, that he does switch teams, and eventually comes back. What will you do about it then.”

Sitting next to him in the booth of the bar, Kindaichi is presently the picture of a man whose primordial essence has escaped his body. “I dunno. Jerk off?”

Which is hard to believe. Could he even get it up right now? Kunimi frowns.

“That’s hard to believe. Could you even get it up right now?”

Kindaichi winks at him sarcastically. “Get hard or die trying, am I right.”

Kunimi raises his glass in response. “Die hard or get trying, more like.” And Kindaichi has to react to that. He has to.

They spend the rest of Christmas together, on the precipice of pathetic correlations, without any clear resolution to ring in the new year.

Kageyama is less sympathetic.

“We tried to make it work,” he explains to Kunimi. If Kunimi hadn’t known him for the better part of these last 15 years, his facial expression over Facetime would have appeared far more emotionally constipated. Right now it’s a cross between frustration and resignation, both definitely self-inflicted. “But it didn’t work, and now he is upset.”

“Ah, yes,” says Kunimi. “You’ve always been so good at stating the obvious, Kageyama.”

“Give me a break, won’t you?” Kageyama rubs his eyes. “It’s 2AM in Europe right now. And really, I did try.”

“Did you, though?”

“There’s just no way I could travel back in time.”

It’s on this kind of whim that Kunimi walks into a relationship with Matsukawa-san. Notwithstanding the notion that third-years graduate into some extant fog of adulthood, Kunimi has not spoken to anybody of Oikawa’s generation since winter of 2013. It costs effort to reconcile the dissonance borne from romanticizing one such phantom of the Aoba Johsai operatic universe.

Matsukawa-san plays recreational volleyball on weekends only. Past his weekday shift at the funeral company, they meet discreetly for drinks. On some of those evenings he takes Kunimi home. He fucks Kunimi with little reservation, folds himself into the futon thereafter, and lets his desires melt away without smoking another cigarette. In his own way, Matsukawa-san is probably just as emotionally constipated as Kageyama. Kunimi really has to hand it to himself, to have discovered yet another victim of pathetic correlations. Throw Iwaizumi-san into the mix and that’s almost a full house.

“You’re weird, Akira,” Matsukawa points out. “I never thought you were the type to care about what other people were doing.”

“You say that, but you’re just as concerned about how Oikawa-san’s doing.”

“Funny you should mention him,” says Matsukawa. “‘Cause Hanamaki and I had a bet on it, a couple years back. How long he’d last in Argentina before he booked a one-way trip to southern California. And we both lost. Somehow it never occurred to either of us that he would stay there indefinitely. Futures on Oikawa are so needlessly bleak.”

“Oh? Is that why you’re screwing me?” asks Kunimi. “Because I’m younger, and I’m predictable?”

“That has nothing to do with it. I’m screwing you because you’re hot, and because I want to.”

“ _Senpai_ ,” Kunimi purrs.

“You know I hate it when you call me that,” Matsukawa growls, and his mouth is on Kunimi’s again, hungry and searching for some kind of purchase. Not that he’ll find anything there. Not that Kunimi will keep him from trying.

Against the new year, Kindaichi’s indiscretion treads somewhere north of combative. With minimal effort, his antics eat their way into Kunimi’s schedule. On his Instagram story he posts two-minute clips of his dog chewing a Schweiden Adlers’ towel into pieces. In private, he’s fearful of rejection and insecure enough to show it. He hasn’t slept properly in three weeks. He’s horribly jealous of Hinata Shouyou. He knows that he’s got no reason to be, but after all this time he can’t be the only person keeping Kageyama’s dick wet, wouldn’t Kunimi agree?

“Yeah, that’s a terrible perspective,” says Kunimi.

“It really is,” Hinata nods in agreement, completely unoffended by the accusation. He’s come to settle the dispute on Kageyama’s behalf. “You know, Kageyama’s super shitty with feelings like that. He’s even confessed to me privately how much he dislikes that part of himself. Take it from me, his best friend of 12 years and counting!”

“You’re talking to his best friend of 15 years and counting,” Kunimi reminds Hinata. “But go on.”

“Let me put it this way,” says Hinata. “Kageyama’s like your dog. He will only go as far as you will throw, Kindaichi. But he has always loved you quietly.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Kindaichi rubs his dog’s belly mournfully. “But maybe I want him to love me loudly. Maybe that’s all I need.” What he _actually_ needs right now, Kunimi thinks, is probably more sleep.

Kageyama’s subsequent text message to Kunimi is insidious. _And im saying that i TRIED to do that. How were we supposed to go from friends to fuckbuddies to boyfriends so quickly. He gave me three weeks to start simping for him. Why dont u tell me how to react to that. Fucking tell me. because i am LOST at this point_

For a king so deeply entrenched in his own castle, this is a new level of verbosity. Kageyama is still typing. The _“...”_ on iMessage disappears and reappears furiously as he recounts to Kunimi argument after argument that he and Kindaichi must have rehearsed to one another in the past seven months. Past the third paragraph, Kunimi stops reading. He wants to send Kageyama a clown emoji. He refrains only because his own sex life is excellent right now, and he doesn’t step on clowns when they are down.

 _Plz put me on the phone_ , Kageyama texts. It’s a warning.

“I do _not_ want to talk to him,” Kindaichi says. His arms are folded across his chest and he is looking upward pointedly, bottom lip trembling. It’s also a warning.

Valentine’s Day comes and goes. Matsukawa-san rails him so hard into the coffee table that week, it leaves Kunimi walking funny for the next three days.

In the end, it’s somehow Oikawa who makes them both come around. He flies back to Miyagi at the end of March for a funeral, which is how he learns about everything from Matsukawa-san; that is, in just about the worst way possible. Following the cremation ceremony for his uncle, he accosts Kunimi and Kindaichi at their shared apartment in Sendai.

“Listen up, you fucking moron.” Oikawa doesn’t even make it through the genkan before he’s sharpening his knife at Kindaichi. “You think I don’t regret it for every second of my life, that I didn’t move to California in 2016? Do you really want to see Tobio-chan married with two kids, is that it? You wanna be the best man at his wedding that badly? Then don’t make the same mistake I did.”

Kindaichi drops the slippers he’d been holding out to Oikawa. They fall to the floor silently, and Kunimi can almost hear his toes retract in the presence of such open-wounded thoughts. “L-Long time no see, Oikawa-san,” Kindaichi mumbles.

“Are you even listening?”

“I didn’t know it was like that, between you and Iwa-”

“No shit, it was _so_ embarrassing for me.” Oikawa dismisses him. “But don’t worry. I’ve got volleyball still, don’t I?”

There’s irony in that statement somewhere. Kunimi winces. Who could’ve predicted that futures on Oikawa would actually be this bleak?

Kindaichi stares at his toes. “It must have been a long drive from the airport. I’m sorry if you came all the way just to tell me this.”

“As if,” sneers Oikawa. He turns on Kunimi next. “And you! Who gave you permission to start fucking Mattsun? What’s wrong with you, you think your high school senpais are all a joke or something? What’re you going to do when he actually falls for you, huh?”

Kunimi raises an eyebrow. He picks up the slippers that Kindaichi had dropped on the floor. “How is that any of your business? We’re both mutually consenting adults, Oikawa-san.”

“Oh, don’t you _Oikawa-san_ me,” says Oikawa. “You’re just as bad as Tobio-chan. No. Actually, you are way worse.”

Kunimi straightens up. He offers the slippers to Oikawa. “Just how am I way worse?”

“You don’t have any idea how long Mattsun spent getting over you, do you? We couldn’t hear the end of it for years. _Years._ ”

The slippers fall on the floor a second time. Oikawa stands triumphant.

“I...what?”

“Listen, I’m sorry.” Matsukawa doesn’t look him in the eye. “Honest to god, I only had a crush on you in high school. This is exactly why I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“So what,” says Kunimi. “You were never going to mention this at all?”

“I know how you are. You won’t date anybody with feelings for you. And I’m fine with that. Just, I thought it’d be nice to see you like this now. In such a capacity.”

“Huh,” Kunimi says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. If anything he feels slightly betrayed by the lack of melodrama in Matsukawa’s confession. “...You know what, you just proved me right.”

“Eh?” Matsukawa rubs his chin. “What do you mean?”

“About the reason why you’re screwing me. I was right about that. But I suppose I was stupid to have thought otherwise.” If anybody’s a pathetic correlation, it’s probably himself. Kunimi feels ill. Why does he sound so panicked? Is he actually panicking? He must be. He’s panicking enough that he’s policing the tone of his own voice. “It’s because I’m younger than you, and I’m predictable.”

“What? No.” Understanding dawns in Matsukawa’s eyes. “No, don’t say that. Hey, I’m sorry. Hey. Let’s be reasonable. Won’t you let me explain? Hey, where are you going. Wait, _Akira_ —”

In the aftermath of Oikawa’s disastrous visit, Kunimi gives himself some time to misplace his existence. He books a roundtrip flight and a ridiculously expensive three-night stay in Casa del Mar Santa Monica. He doesn’t tell Iwaizumi that he’s in the area, merely sends a snap of the Theme Building from the window of the Uber taking him out of LAX. That’s enough to trigger a five-minute voice message expressing irritation from Iwaizumi and a reservation at a kbbq restaurant at the bottom of the night.

“It’s good to see you again, Akira,” Iwaizumi’s Korean-American wife hugs him in greeting. Kunimi has not seen her since the wedding, but he hugs her back dutifully. By 10pm he is sufficiently drunk on yogurt soju to start relaying group selfies back to Kindaichi. With any luck these pictures will wind up in Oikawa-san’s inbox by the weekend. But he won’t get his hopes up, since he’s not here to prove a point. Despite what Matsukawa-san probably thinks of him, he’s not that toxic.

The morning of his second day in LA he goes for a walk on the beach, throwing his thoughts in the sand to bake. It’s a blustery day by Google weather’s standards and the sun shines wetly through thin patches of clouds. Sand whips into his hair and the pockets of his shorts as he treads along the shore. He drinks a latte from a shop up the hill and buys some souvenirs for Kindaichi at a kiosk back near the pier.

By the third day his skin is soothed by the salt in the air. He returns to Japan without having eased any of the tension pressing into his shoulders. But what had he expected? Good things take time to fall apart.

“We’re back together,” Kindaichi informs him, at the end of summer. “I apologized, and Tobio did too. How are things with you?”

“Never been better,” says Kunimi. It’s a lie, but at least it’s one that he can live with.

**Author's Note:**

>  _luft_ , in chess, "designates the space or square left by a pawn move into which a king (usually a castled one) may then retreat". https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Luft


End file.
